


Heartlines on your Hand

by samedifference61



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Black Sails levels of violence, Blood, Codependency, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Slow Burn, Yes someone dies, alternate season 4, dark: like the inside of Flint's mind dark, needs more Billy Bones/Ben Gunn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6486730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samedifference61/pseuds/samedifference61
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A possible beginning for Season 4 and a prompt fill for xJuniperx.</p><p>And Flint wants to say, <i>I’ve already given you everything. Thomas was everything I had left. There’s nothing else.</i> He doesn’t say any of that, but looks at Silver, the honesty on his face raw and open, and even through the alcoholic haze, he thinks maybe that isn’t true. </p><p>Maybe there is something left to give. Maybe they aren’t yet finished writing this particular narrative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [xJuniperx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xJuniperx/pseuds/xJuniperx) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> This isn't a fully formed idea, but the finale has had me thinking a lot about Silver's transformation and how fast it's happening, how quickly he is taking to his new identity. And I was thinking, if it's happening alarmingly quickly for me, maybe it's also happening too quickly for Flint. I'd love to see a fic where, even though Flint is of course intrigued & impressed by the changes he's seen in Silver, he also feels a need to protect him from falling too far too fast.
> 
> So the basic idea is that Silver is in a situation where he's about to react violently, and Flint either stops it completely or (even better?) handles it for him. Silver may or may not feel some resentment at being held back. Maybe he's thankful in the end, maybe not. The overall idea is that Flint is trying to reign Silver in, slow his descent or at least cushion his landing. He doesn't want to STOP the transformation but either a) doesnt think Silver is ready to be on his level yet, or b) is bothered at witnessing that side of Silver... or both.
> 
> Can definitely be smutty if your inspiration takes you there, should definitely be angsty. However you want to interpret the idea is 100% great no matter what, as long as it explores the general idea of Flint physically and/or mentally restraining Silver from crossing a line. How Silver reacts & what the resolution is (whether Silver acquiesces to Flint or vice versa) is up to you. I've just been really fixated on the idea so I'd love to see what some of you incredibly talented, thoughtful authors can do with it.

He doesn’t notice the blood until its sticky warmth is running over his palm, dripping from his fingertips onto the leaves and grass at the creek’s edge. Flint makes a fist and the blood drips faster between his knuckles and paints his skin in a dull shade of crimson. It must be his own blood, not that of the red coats littering the quiet forest behind him. His bicep is stinging and his finger tips are tingling, slowly going numb. When he looks down, his shirt is darkening around his right shoulder, wet and clinging to his skin. He never felt the bullet go in, but it must be there now, tearing a hole through his flesh without him noticing.

“Captain?” Silver is shouting. Flint looks at him then, vision blurring slightly at the edges. He looks at the strange urgency on Silver’s face, at Madi the Maroon Princess’s hand gently holding Silver back from the edge of the creek. It bothers him that he can’t read her expression as readily as he can Silver’s.

It doesn’t matter though, not really. This just might be his end, and it’s strangely freeing to meet it on his own terms. Silver won’t be the death of him, not if he still has the power to end it all when he’s good and ready. Maybe it’s time.

A smile curls over Flint’s lips just before a warm blanket of darkness carries him into the void.

***

When he wakes, Madi and another young Maroon girl are crowding into his space, touching him without gentleness, washing the wound on his arm and the borrowed blood from his face, erasing all traces of battle with the rough swipe of cloth doused in water. Sitting up with a pained grown, he resists their efforts as best as he can, pushing their hands away. The new one clicks her tongue at him in disapproval and holds him still. Madi’s eyes are serious, warning him, but he doesn’t relax, not at all.

Silver is at the doorway, a map of some sort in his hands. He isn’t looking at them.  And Flint suddenly feels all of the anger in him boil over in this moment.

“Why didn’t you let me die?” Flint demands of Silver. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

When Silver doesn’t immediately look over, Flint pounds the small table near the bed with his fist. He will not be ignored. He isn’t dead, so he won’t be ignored. The women stop what they’re doing and the new one visibly shifts backward, flinching away from his anger.

Flint tries again, “I was ready, why didn’t you let me?” and the desperate lift at the end isn’t planned.

Madi turns to look at Silver, and they have a kind of silent conversation using their eyes alone. Flint resents it all so completely. How dare they treat him like he needs taking care of? Like they can make decisions for him, bleeding and unconscious or not. _He was ready._

Flint immediately moves to stand and reaches for his sabre on instinct though he knows it isn’t there. His pistol is gone as well.

“Sit down,” Silver orders finally. “You lost too much blood. You’ll faint again,” he explains. And Flint cannot understand how he lost control so thoroughly, how everyone in this room seems to hold the plans except him.

“You have not earned the right to give me orders. Not yet.” And Flint is across the room shoving Silver into the wall, a forearm pushing into his throat. The air is forced from Silver’s lungs, and he struggles to breathe, but he doesn’t resist, just meets Flint’s glare with matching intensity.

Two guards standing watch outside the room quickly enter. The taller one reaches for Flint with a big hand around his bicep, and Flint turns and throws a punch landing one on the side of the man’s jaw. He stumbles back, and the other one is upon Flint in the next moment. The loss of blood makes his vision go foggy, and the pain in his shoulder is almost unbearable, but he doesn’t relent.

“Enough!” Madi shouts.

Flint tries to haul himself forward, but strong arms are pulling him back. He feels like he’s bursting at the edges, fueled by anger and the rush of battle and Silver’s own inaction.

Madi stands tall, eye to eye with Flint, unafraid. “We are not yet finished fighting, but the battles today, the battles left to fight in the coming months are _not_ between you and John Silver,” she warns.

***

Flint spends most of the next day between restless sleep and drinking himself _into_ restless sleep. Twice he stirs himself out of a breathless dream of a foggy London morning and tea over whispered debates, philosophy and poetry books covering every surface, contented smiles, and the brush of warm fingers over skin.

Or maybe it’s a memory, Flint can’t seem to tell the different anymore.

After that, he moves to lounge on the porch outside of his assigned hut, still with the rum in hand. From here, he has a view of the camp below. It’s midday and the Maroons are busy, moving from place to place with tools, chopped wood, animals to butcher. Even the children seem to have been given tasks to complete. No one is at leisure. There are repairs to complete and plans to make.

The work here is just beginning.

Twice, Flint spots Silver. Once he is walking with Madi, but Flint can’t hear the words they speak. Both are frowning. The second time, Silver seems to spot him sitting there. And Silver shields his eyes and nods once before continuing on in the direction he’s going.

***

Flint is awoken from his lounging position on the porch by the heavy sound of clay pots slamming together. It must be the untouched food on the small table nearby.

When Flint opens his eyes just a little, Silver is leaning against the wooden railing with his arms folded like he’s looking down at an indignant child. “I’ve been told you haven’t eaten anything offered to you.”

Flint doesn’t answer, just grunts and takes another mouthful of rum. Silver pulls the bottle away from him, and Flint lets him take it, limbs too lazy to react properly.

“Rum does not count as proper sustenance. You also haven’t let anyone close enough to change your bandages.” Silver’s words are even, hiding any emotion. His expression is the same unnerving calmness. “The chambermaid assigned the duty of caring for your wound refuses to go near you for fear of her own death.”

“What do you care?” he grumbles out, covering his eyes with his forearms, stretching against the spin of alcohol in his veins.

And all at once, Flint watches Silver’s expression change, softening around the edges. He sighs deeply and sinks to the ground, so both legs are stretched out near Flint’s own. “I care a great deal. More than I should, to be perfectly honest.” And the last part is a whisper, more to himself than anyone else.

“You didn’t seem too concerned about my wellbeing when you claimed you’d be the death of me just a few days ago.”

“I meant what I said earlier, but I also think we, you and I, we have chapters yet to write. That’s why you’re still here. And rebuilding this place, planning what happens next for Nassau, that’s something we must do together or not at all.”

Growling, with eyes closed, Flint says, “You seem to be handling it just fine without me.”

“No,” Silver corrects. “Madi doesn’t know Nassau. She doesn’t know what’s in the blackened hearts of the men there. She can protect her people here, knows this place well, but she has much to learn. _I_ have much to learn.”

Flint raises any eyebrow, still skeptical. “And you want me to teach you? That’s why you kept me around?”

Silver runs his fingers over the edge of the rum bottle he’s still holding, and takes a long drink before continuing. “I want you to be part of this, with me, as equals,” and Silver’s eyes are honest, and Flint can see his resolve but also the thinly veiled fear of rejection there too. “I want you to believe in what we’re doing here. I want that to be enough for you.”

And Flint wants to say, _I’ve already given you everything. Thomas was everything I had left_. _There’s nothing else._ He doesn’t say any of that, but looks at Silver, the honesty on his face raw and open, and even through the alcoholic haze, he thinks maybe that isn’t true.

Maybe there is something left to give. Maybe they aren’t yet finished writing this particular narrative.

***

In the evening, Flint follows Silver to the beach. He helps the others carry the remaining dead to graves in the forest, helps dig the holes where they will lay in peace. He offers condolences to families and speaks with the elders of the community about rebuilding. The people they talk with respect Silver’s gentle words and promises of security. They believe him when he says this will end in their favor, that it will all be worth it.

Flint isn’t sure if he believes that yet, but he’s decided after seeing the openness in their eyes, the hope, and the steady hands of John Silver at his side, he’s willing to try.

There is something more to give and Flint intends on figuring out what that is.

***

When Flint learns of Charles Vane’s death, the world narrows to the breathless hollow of loss. A rival, an equal, maybe even a friend. He was snuffed out by England’s iron fist and unyielding rules for how society should function.

The feeling of loss is closely followed by the knife edge sting of revenge.

“They are saying Eleanor Guthrie is responsible for the final word,” Jack continues, words like poison on his tongue. “She stood there and watched it happen.”

“ _Fuck_ Eleanor Guthrie,” Anne adds from her seat on the railing, long coat billowing behind her. She has her back to the men as she expertly hand-rolls bits of dried tobacco between smooth paper, one by one. She licks the edge of the last cigarette and seals it before passing it behind her. Jack takes it from her and lights it using one of the torches at the entrance to the hut. He raises it to the heavens as a silent offering to his late friend.

“Sleep well, Charles,” Jack says to the sky. It’s dark out except for a few torches lit at the doors of huts where the inhabitants are still awake. Flint still hasn’t adjusted to the quiet of the Maroon camp at night.

Flint grits out, “If what you say is true, that harlot will burn for what she’s done.”

Silver nods and hums in agreement, eyes distant and unfocused on any one of them.

“You agree with me?” Flint asks of Silver, genuinely surprised. They’re seated near each other on the porch, passing a cigarette between them in the moonlight.

Silver replies steadily, “Eleanor Guthrie stands between us and our freedom to build a life of our own choosing. If the choice is taking her life to spare the people near to us this night, I say let her burn.”

Jack chuckles to himself. He moves to stand with his back to Anne’s leaning against her, and blows the smoke filling his lungs out toward the sky. He chases it with a deep swallow of rum from the jug he’s holding. He nods toward Silver, “You are a mighty quick study, aren’t you?”

“There is work yet to do. I intend to be part of it,” is all Silver says in response.

Flint takes a long drag from the cigarette, and the familiar smell and taste of tobacco goes a long way to soothe the demons threatening to burn him from the inside out.

And Flint decides then that it will be him to go to Nassau and slit the throat of the Governor’s mistress. “I’ll do it. I’ll go to Nassau and take her by force,” he says to the others, passing the cigarette back to Silver. “And I’ll go alone.”

Jack looks incredulous and Anne turns to glare at him.

“I have witnessed variable levels of insanity from you over the years, but there must be some lines yet to cross because this is certainly the most extreme example,” Jack replies. “You would only get close enough to be the next unfortunate soul swinging by the noose. Your end will be no gain to us.”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Flint says, raising his voice slightly.

“It also isn’t a plan,” Jack counters. “And what you propose, _if you fail,_ will have consequences for us all.”

“No, you won’t go alone,” Silver corrects.

“You are actually suggesting he go _at all_?” Jack asks Silver, hands gesturing wildly.

Silver ignores Jack’s protests. “There is one among us who I believe can get close enough to her.” And Silver nods toward Anne.

“What the fuck do you think I can do about it?” Anne asks, hopping down from the railing to scowl at them all. “Eleanor Guthrie is no fucking friend of mine.”

And Flint immediately knows where Silver is going with all of this. Anne isn’t the key, but who she can get to is the key. _Max._ This plan will come down to Max’s sense of self preservation and who she believes can help her achieve it.

Flint lowers his voice, turning to Silver as if the others aren’t there at all. “Max isn’t on our side,” he says.

“No, but she’s in this for herself, for the future of Nassau. The only place where she will be respected. If we offer her something Eleanor Guthrie can’t. Sanctuary from England, or protection, or something. I believe we can convince her.”

“You are suggesting Anne appeal to Max as her former lover to aid her in killing Eleanor Guthrie who also happens to be Max’s _former lover_?”

Anne says, “ _Fuck, no_. I ain’t gonna do _shit_ that has Max in the middle of it.”

“Not killing,” Silver clarifies.

And Flint continues Silver’s line of thought, “No, we bring her here. Hold her captive. The governor will make a deal to spare her life. She is far too valuable to him, while this Maroon camp means nothing to him.”

“And if he doesn’t find her life as valuable as we assume?” Jack asks.

Silver says, “It won’t matter. The rebellion in Nassau will be underway after the public execution of Charles Vane. Removing Eleanor will convince those still unconvinced that we have the upper hand here. Either way, we gain more control.”

“We’ll leave tomorrow,” Flint confirms. “I don’t believe there’s time to waste.

Silver nods. He stands, ashing the last of the cigarette under his boot. “I’ll speak with Madi and with the queen. Inform them both of the plan. We’ll work out the details as we go.”

Jack says, “Yes, okay. All of it is insane, will probably end particularly badly but it might be the best shot we have at regaining some control.” Jack runs his index finger and thumb over his beard, deep in thought. “Teach should know about this. We’ll make ready to move the fleet if the plan goes south. If the two of you get captured, I believe I can convince Teach to move against Nassau if necessary. He and his men are camped near the beach at the moment. If there’s enough of a rebellion in Nassau, we can start to recruit other crews to back us if we need them. Before you move, all of us should meet together for discussion,” Jack says. “There’s too much at stake here for everyone not to be behind it. We should arrange for a council of sorts.”

Anne shouts, “ _Fuck you all!_ I haven’t agreed to this.” Flint and Silver look at Jack for help with convincing her.

Jack takes Anne by the shoulder while his other hand rests on her jaw, bringing her face up to look at him. “Anne, my love, in truth this is the only way I can see _to_ keep Max safe. She’s playing a dangerous game in continuing her association with Eleanor. When the power shifts to the rebellion and she and Eleanor remain loyal to one another, Max _will_ be killed. I will bet all the black pearls in that _fucking_ chest buried in the ground beneath our feet that Max knows this and has planned for it. Please consider that. She will take the deal. You know her better than any of us here.”

Anne frowns. “She’ll have to choose between me and Eleanor. It ain’t right to make her choose.”

“It’s simpler than that,” Flint says, shaking his head. “It’s not a choice between you and Eleanor. It’s a choice between life and death. She’ll choose life and give up Eleanor.”

Anne thinks for a moment, weighing her options, but finally she nods wearily, head down behind her hat. “I’ll do it. If it’ll save her, I’ll do it.”

***

Later, when the stars are bright overhead and Flint has packed away maps and pistols and gunpowder, rope and other supplies for the journey ahead, the rain begins. It brings a welcome temperature drop in sharp contrast to the tropical heat of the day. The tap, tap of the rain is soothing and constant against the thatch roof overhead. The air smells earthy, fresh, and ready for change.

Silver appears sometime later, shadowed by the flickering candlelight of the room. Flint is just finishing rewrapping the wound on his shoulder. It hurts less now. The mixed paste of strong smelling herbs brought to him by the Maroon doctor helps to numb the ache that remains.

“The Maroon queen wants signed and sworn asylum from England,” Silver says from the doorway. “She thinks the governor will give her this island to rule as she pleases in exchange for the life of Eleanor.”

“She will have it,” Flint nods, placing the remaining cloth bandages and the container of paste in his sack for travel.

“You seem overly certain,” Silver says, a small smile at the corners of his mouth.  He sits in a chair near the door and loosens the straps on his iron leg.

Flint continues, “Assuming the Governor wants to make the exchange, it’s an easy thing to agree to. England had no knowledge of this island before the occupation of Nassau by the current Governor. They will give it to her. For a time.”

“For a time,” Silver repeats. There are droplets of water in his hair from the rain. Silver ties his wet hair back with a thin scrap of leather.

Flint says, “Enough time for us to regain our footing, yes. Make plans. Do what’s necessary. When England wants this island, she will take it just as she took Nassau. The Maroon queen has no way of understanding this.”

“Is it all worth it then?” Silver asks, removing his wet jacket and placing it along the back of the chair to dry. “If they’ll just take this place from her, from us, in the end?”

“If it keeps the queen on our side. Yes,” Flint agrees. Silver frowns at that. “We don’t have options. And to strengthen our position, Eleanor must be taken care of first.”

Silver sighs, resolved to it all. He stretches his exposed leg, digging his fingers into his thigh muscles. It looks to be completely healed now. Much better than the last time Flint saw it.

Flint gestures toward Silver’s leg. “It looks to be fully healed.”

“Yes,” Silver agrees as he removes the boot from his other foot, “but the weight of the iron makes the muscles here tight and sore after a whole day on my feet. I’m hoping my body will compensate over time. It’s nothing like the pain of decay though.”

Flint nods, and then it occurs to him that Silver is slowly undressing and making himself comfortable like he intends to stay for a while. “Do you intend to sleep here this night?” Flint asks.

When Silver speaks, it’s barely above a whisper. “Yes, at least until the council meeting just before dawn. There’s a shortage of beds with the arrival of Teach’s crew. It’s either sleep here or the holding cells for captured crews,” and Silver smiles at him then, an open and inviting kind of smile, slightly weary at the edges.

And _oh_ , there it is.

Right there. A tiny spark of something lighting in Flint’s blackened heart, right there at the core of him, laced with fleeting bits of hope. Flint thinks, _and what if—_ but before that thought takes hold of him too tightly, he stands, throwing on his shirt once more before moving toward the door.

None of this can end well, not by adding all the things Flint is desperately trying to push from his thoughts right now, so he decides to keep it from happening at all. They have chapters yet to write, but controlling the pen, how the story’s written down will keep Silver safe from Flint’s cursed nature with those who get too close. Silver said he’s determined to not be a repetition of Flint’s past, and Flint is beginning to see how that might benefit them both. Maybe breaking the cycle will be the thing that finally frees him.

Flint stops at the doorway with a hand on the frame of it. “Take the bed then. I’ll be awake for hours still,” and Flint doesn’t wait for Silver to respond before leaving the room.


	2. Chapter 2

The beach is calm and breezy, slightly chilly after the previous night’s rain. There is fog rolling off the water in the early morning cloudiness. Two small boats are made ready for the journey to Nassau, and Madi escorts four male Maroons to the beach. All are soldiers familiar with guns and swords and navigating the waters near to Nassau without detection. They will accompany Flint and Anne to the Nassau harbor where they will meet two spies who will help with safe passage to the interior of the island.

All has been discussed and agreed upon at the council meeting just before dawn.

“Godspeed and good luck,” Madi says and nods at Flint, but her expression is otherwise steady and unreadable. Her hands are clasped primly at her waist.

Flint smiles at her. “I do not think my safety is something you care too deeply about.”

Madi stands with her back straight and tall. “No,” she begins truthfully, “but John Silver cares for you far beyond logical reasoning. I can see that now. I know where his loyalties lie and I know where he slept last night, so I will wish you well for his sake and for the promises you have made each other, and especially for the promises you have both made to my mother.”

One side of Flint’s mouth curls into a snarl. The camp is too small for sleeping arrangements to go unnoticed by any who care to watch for such things. “You should not assume things you know nothing about,” he warns.

“We will meet again, you and I,” Madi says steadily. “And upon your return, perhaps we will speak of something more than assumptions.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Flint counters, bowing his head in a farewell gesture.

Anne brushes past both of them saying, “Let’s get _the fuck_ out of here before I change my mind,” just before taking her place in the boat. She holds her hat to her head to keep it in place against the coastal winds.

Flint scans the beach for any others, but they are alone in their send off.

Madi does not wave when the two boats depart, just stands stoically with the gentle wind whipping at her skirt.

***

Under cover of black cloaks and night shadows, they make it safely to Nassau harbor and move directly to the Barlow house where Billy and Ben are waiting for them.

The rebellion in Nassau is underway, Billy tells them. And it has progressed further than Flint had anticipated.

A week ago, the crew of _the Siren_ managed to publicly burn their pardon documents in the square while chanting: _The Ranger’s captain lives on!_ They caught the interior of the butcher shop ablaze before the newly appointed magistrate ordered them all arrested for public endangerment and illegal political protest. The skirmish in the street left a dozen red coats and pirates dead. Now, half of the Siren’s crew remain in prison awaiting public execution, while the other half are gathered outside the cities’ edges, camped out and quietly recruiting from the other crews left in Nassau.

Before the third day was up, Charles Vane’s body was cut down by rebels associated with _the Siren’s_ crew and stolen away into the night. Ben says Charles was secretly and properly buried not far from the Barlow house. Anne insists on going there before the plan is underway.

***

Deep in the wooded forest, Flint stands away from Anne, giving her space as she silently grieves. She kneels on the freshly packed dirt and touches the wooden grave marker, a simple cross pounded into the earth. There’s no name to mark the inhabitant, but it’s likely better that way. Flint can’t see Anne’s face hidden as it is in the dark shadows. She doesn’t speak, just kneels there a long time without moving, fingers locked around the wood grain of the cross in a tight grip.

After some time, Flint takes her gently by the shoulder and they move away from the grave, from Charles, as one.

Ann whispers a muffled, “Charles, I’m sorry for what I’m about to do,” into Flint’s jacket, as they retreat from the grave.

***

Mr. Featherstone sends word to Max about a request for a secret meeting between her and Anne.

Max’s immediate agreement is a good sign to Flint, but he still worries Max will betray Anne by informing Eleanor. Ben spends the day of the agreement tracking Max’s movements to ensure she doesn’t make contact with Eleanor.

They will meet at the small church on the outskirts of town, a one room building with whitewashed walls of wood. At this time of day, it’s open but abandoned. Flint and Billy conceal themselves on opposite sides of the church and watch Max approach alone in her fine dress of ivory and gold, hair curled and braided neatly. She isn’t smiling when she seats herself in a pew next to Anne and doesn’t move to touch her or greet her warmly.

Flint can hear Max’s words from where he is positioned and can see them both through the open window. He rests a hand on his pistol, ready for any signs of distress.

“Max,” Anne begins on a whisper, but Max quiets her immediately.

“I know why you are here,” Max insists, while smoothing her skirts. “And as much as I would like the reason to be regret because you have missed me, this is not the case, is it?”

“Max, listen—”

“No, let me speak first. I spent some time today deciding what all of this must be about. When we parted ways, I never expected to see you again, especially not after Jack’s arrest and eventual escape. Then I spotted the new member of _the Walrus’s_ crew, Ben Gunn, is it? Watching me today first at the brothel, then inside the tavern at midday.  Watching my movements and to whom I was speaking with. And it started to make sense to me. Somehow the exiled pirates of Nassau, you and Jack and Flint’s Walrus crew, those of you who did not take the pardons, those of you operating under the name of Long John Silver’s black spot premonition are planning something together. Now, to request a meeting, you must need something from me, something only I have access to. Or a _someone_ only I have access to.”

Anne starts to protest again, but Max holds a hand up to silence her. Flint isn’t surprised with Max’s deductive skills. She’s done well for herself on the merits of her own intelligence and cunning. None of them should be surprised. He’s confused by her mention of Silver though, but assumes Billy must have kept that part from him purposefully. A discussion for later, then.

Max continues, “But before we proceed, please understand I have come of my own accord and I have no weapons or hidden militia guards for protection, and I know you are not alone.”

Max stands and loudly says, “Allow us all to negotiate this _someone_ you want together rather than placing the burden solely on Anne.”

After weighing the options, Flint finally nods to Billy before stepping out of the shadows and through the open double doors at the entrance to the church. Billy steps cautiously behind Flint, hand on his sword, ready.

“Captain Flint, Billy Bones,” Max nods her head in greeting.

Anne gives a panicked look from behind Max’s shoulder, but Flint believes Max is alone.

“You know who we want,” Flint says steadily.

“I do,” Max says. “Before I agree to terms, I would like the courteously of knowing your plan for her and its purpose in restoring Nassau, as I assume that is your goal.”

***

In the end, it’s a fairly simple negotiation. Max listens to their plan to capture Eleanor Guthrie in order to ransom her back to the governor for safe harbor at the Maroon camp, all while agitating the rebellion further in their favor once word is out about the woman responsible for the death of Charles Vane being captured.

Max informs them she has been aiding the rebels of _the Siren_ crew for weeks by giving them access to food and water and information, something Flint and Anne and Billy hadn’t anticipated. Mrs. Hudson had suspected Idelle a spy for the rebels, but in truth Idelle is working on reconnaissance _for_ Max, not against her.

Max agrees to help them capture Eleanor, only if the plan is free of implicating her in the crime. She agrees to offer information, nothing more and nothing less. Max wishes to stay in Nassau through the rebellion, working the system from the inside out.

“I’ve worked too hard to let it all go up in flames by abandoning everything. I will stay in Nassau and aid you here in any way required of me.”

Flint asks how they are to trust her and she simply says there is no way of knowing for sure, but through her loyalties to Anne and Jack, there should be incentive enough. A free Nassau will mean far more in gains to Max than a shackled one.

***

“I didn’t tell you because it’s often hard to say how you will react in any given situation, especially of late,” Billy whispers.

Flint glares at him, arms folded across his chest. “Of course I would react poorly to such a decision made without my or his permission. Even in this movement, he does not know you’ve used his name in such a way.”

They are standing face to face in the hearth room of Miranda’s house, meters away from the others, but out of hearing distance. Flint is struck oddly by an instinct toward Silver’s protection. It should have been his name on that note with the black spot. Silver isn’t ready yet for the implications that will surely come of it.

“Silver’s ready for this,” Billy insists, almost as if he’s reading Flint’s thoughts. “All of us believe it. Those men in Nassau are starting to believe it. And besides, what’s done is done. You have no say in this anymore. This part of the plan, _our_ part of the plan, is in motion as we speak.”

And that strikes Flint hard, a knife wound to the lungs. It is true. He has no control over this one and the direction it will take. He can’t stop Silver from becoming what the men wish of him, not anymore. It will happen whether he wants it now or not.

So he nods, accepting that _Long John Silver_ will be the name attached to this rebellion, the one they will fear and respect both. He nods his acceptance because there’s nothing left to do.

Silver may be the ghost of a man who will eventually save them all from England’s oppression and in turn, he thinks, maybe save Flint from his own self-destruction. Silver will be a new hope to believe in, one that will allow Flint to step aside as the main character in his own narrative, and the more Flint is open to the idea, the more freeing it feels.

***

Eleanor does not go quietly.

She thrashes and shouts against Flint as he restrains her in the bedroom where they find her. Anne waits at the door, peering out into the empty hallway, motioning the ‘all clear’ when it’s time to move. In the end, Flint places a cloth over Eleanor’s mouth and nose and waits until she passes out from the lack of oxygen.

The servants let Flint and Anne pass quietly out of the bedroom with Eleanor in tow, dead weight in Flint’s arms. All were instructed by Max to let them pass without a word. Eleanor was unaware the governor’s mansion was mostly staffed by slaves with ties to the Maroon camp. They let Flint and Anne pass through loyalties to Madi and the queen. Max also informed them of the governor’s schedule since his recovery. He meets with the militia general on Mondays at dawn, away from the mansion. He isn’t present in the house, and all other officials are elsewhere.

At the back entrance to the house, Anne silently takes out two guards with a sword to the throat, while Flint covers Eleanor with blankets and stows her body in a cart filled with sacks of grain. He binds her hands and places cloth in her mouth to muffle the sounds of her screams if she wakes. Billy calmly drives the cart out the open gates once Flint and Anne are on board. Cloaks cover their bodies, hiding them from discovery.

At the house, Flint and Billy fasten a line of strong iron chain around the base of a large tree in the back garden. They shackle Eleanor’s hands to the tree to prevent her movement. They won’t stay here long, so the restraints are sufficient for the short term.

They quickly fashion a new letter in the name of John Silver:

_I am in possession of the Governor’s mistress, Eleanor Guthrie, whom I hold responsible for the death of the pirate captain Charles Vane. I request the presence of the governor at the Maroon camp over negotiation for her life at dawn in two days’ time._

_Long John Silver_

The note is taken by Mr. Featherstone to Max into town.

***

When she wakes, Eleanor Guthrie is livid, to say the least.

“You will not bargain with my life like I am some possession to pass on to the next owner! I would sooner die than satisfy the demands of such _rotten fucks_ as you lot!” Eleanor shouts, physically enraged.

Anne raises to the bait first, unsheathing one blade from her belt in a flash. “I will gladly put you out of your _fucking_ misery for the death of Captain Vane,” she snarls. “Fucking coward to use his life for your own gain!”

Eleanor bites back, “Charles Vane chose his own immoral path in this world. His death needed no assistance from me, and I hope he burns in hell.”

And Anne punches Eleanor in the face twice, the first with the blunt handle of her short blade, and the second with her fist after she drops the sword in her rage. Billy manages to restrain her before she can make ready for the third assault. She spits at Eleanor before Billy can drag her backward while Ben tries to talk her down from the string of insults she’s throwing out.

Flint brings Eleanor a cloth to hold to her bleeding face. Unsurprisingly, she refuses it, breathing heavily with her head held down, blood dripping from the cut on her lip to the ground. She spits out blood.

“This won’t work,” she murmurs to the ground, tangled hair falling around her face from her place on her knees.

“Let us decide what will work and what won’t,” Flint says calmly.

Eleanor tries again, “The governor will not hold my life with more importance than the whole of Nassau. Nassau is his life’s work. You must know that already.”

“Maybe not,” Flint says, “but in the end it won’t matter.”

And he leaves Eleanor to reflect on what they might be planning for her.


	3. Chapter 3

Eleanor is kept in the upper holding cell at the Maroon camp when they return. The queen is pleased with their efforts and a great feast is held to celebrate their return. Flint smiles as he’s expected to, but keeps to the back of the party.  This kind of celebration should wait for a real victory.

The others seem content to enjoy a break in the intensity of the last few weeks. The pirate crews mingle with the Maroon natives and Flint watches closely for any disagreements, but all are letting differences aside at the moment. Anne and Jack disappeared some time ago to enjoy each other’s company in private. Billy and Ben are sharing animated stories of the sea while the Maroon men are denying any parts they deem too incredible. DeGroot has taken a strong liking to a lovely Maroon woman, and with the rate at which he’s consuming rum, even Teach seems to be enjoying himself. 

Silver is quiet, contemplative. He sits too close to Flint, smiles too wide, and drinks a little too much. Flint is too tired to deny him this night.

When the music is composed of fevered drum beats and the party is loud with joy and alcohol induced conversation, Flint says to Silver, “Billy is using your name to instill fear and rally support among Nassau’s inhabitants.”

Silver raises his eyebrows at this. “And how is that working for him exactly?”

_Better than anticipated_ , Flint thinks.

“The rebel group forming in opposition to the governor is growing daily and we think it will grow exponentially once word of Eleanor’s removal is circulated. They seem keen on you as its leader.” Flint watches Silver’s reaction closely.

Silver frowns, not quite uncomfortable with the idea, and unsure of its implications. “I’m not sure if that is something I really want.”

“The men need someone to believe in,” Flint says. Reassuring him is all he can do at this point. This is happening whether Silver agrees to it or not.

“And that someone happens to be me? What did you say to Billy when you found out?” Flint’s opinion still matters to him.

“He knows I think you’re not ready, but it’s in motion now, and those men already believe in the idea of you. You will have to make the idea of _Long John Silver_ a reality.”

“Fine,” Silver agrees, raising the rum to his lips again. Flint isn’t sure if he understands the weight of carrying this rebellion with his own name.

Silver asks, “What’s next then?” Flint raises his eyes to the holding cell where Eleanor is being kept. He can’t see her from here, but she’s there. Strictly guarded and quietly raging.

“We wait for the governor’s response, and after, we make a decision.”

Silver finishes, “To kill her or go through with the negotiation.”

“Yes,” Flint says.

“You know, I haven’t seen Madi since your welcome at the beach. I wonder—” Flint follows Silver’s line of sight to the holding cell above them. It’s quiet there and Flint still cannot see anyone except the guards, but the guards seem to be overly interested in the inhabitant, eyes fixed on the interior of the cell.

“Come on,” Flint says to Silver. He suspects Madi may be having words with her childhood playmate, a thing too dangerous to ignore.

Silver follows Flint to the winding stairs leading to the upper holding cell where Eleanor is being kept. Madi is there, door shut behind her as she stands opposite Eleanor with the same confidence she shows anyone. Eleanor has her back to the cell wall, cornered into a conversation she likely doesn’t want to have.

“You stole twenty years of my father’s life away from me,” Madi is saying. Her voice is forceful but not raised. She is showing more emotion now than Flint has ever seen of her. “He died here because you helped England take Nassau from him. He gave you everything and you still betrayed him.”

“We thought you were dead,” Eleanor says, words dripping with disdain. “Your father chose to build this place in secret. To keep it from me, from my father. Mr. Scott _, your father,_ was the betrayer.”

Madi takes a few steps closer until she is a meter away from Eleanor. The anger pours off of her in waves, and the guards are tense from their positions outside the cell. There is no doubt that Madi requested they stay out while letting her in.

She isn’t afraid of Eleanor.

“Madi, you should leave her be,” Silver warns, hands around the bars of the cell. “You have nothing to prove to her.” Madi silences him with a hand held up behind her. She isn’t interested in Silver’s thoughts on the matter.

At his waist, Flint holds the handle of his sabre in a tight grip. He counts the guards. There are six and all have swords; two have pistols. The holding cell door is shut, but not locked. Flint feels this might get out of hand soon, so he’s ready to act if necessary.

Eleanor shouts, “You think you have any control over what the governor chooses to do with you and this place you’ve claimed? You have no power and no control because you are _nothing_ to him. This place means _nothing_ to him, and far less to England.”

Madi says, “And what of you? Regardless of the fate of this place, if you are here you must also mean nothing to the governor. I think he will not come for you. Your services, whatever they may have been, are no longer required to complete his reacquisition of Nassau town.”

And Flint knows in that moment, this scene playing out before all of them will not end well. He holds a hand to steady Silver from following and moves to open the door of the holding cell.

The rest happens too quickly to act on anything other than instinct. Eleanor is upon Madi, a piercing scream released from her throat. She claws at Madi’s skin and Madi does her best to deflect the blows, but is overwhelmed by Eleanor’s sheer madness.

There’s a blade in Eleanor’s hand, appearing from somewhere hidden among her skirts and Eleanor thrusts it into Madi’s stomach just before Flint is there pulling them apart, shouting at Eleanor to back away, to stop what she’s doing, to think of the consequences for the actions taken here. The guards are all rushing toward Madi in a whirlpool of confusion. Madi is bleeding out quickly and Flint’s hands are covered in her blood as he presses firmly on the wound.

“I will kill every last one of you savages, I swear it to—” but Eleanor doesn’t finish her thought because a gun is fired from somewhere behind Flint’s shoulder. The bullet strikes her in the stomach and the force of impact throws the knife from her hands. She crumbles to the ground, hands pressed to her stomach, as she gasps in pain. Flint looks behind him, and Silver is there, his pistol smoking as he lowers it slowly. There’s fury in his eyes and Flint knows that look all too intimately.

A threat against someone you care about can lead to the worst kind of blinding madness. Flint knows what that feeling is like.

The guards pull Madi out of the cell and Flint shouts orders for them to carry her to the doctor immediately, to press firmly to the wound to keep the blood from escaping. She’ll die from blood loss before anything else.

Silver is rushing in the direction of Eleanor, murder in his intent.

Flint shouts, “Wait!” and grabs Silver’s forearm tightly. Madi’s blood covers his hands and it covers Silver’s forearm now. Silver looks down at the blood, Madi’s blood now covering his arm. “Don’t,” Flint says in desperation.

The color is draining from Eleanor’s face and her hands are also covered in blood, her own. Flint knows she has lost too much blood to recover from this injury.

“It’s finished,” Silver says, moving forward again.

“Let me do it,” Flint decides, still holding Silver back. And he tries to convey the thought, _I can do this for you. Let me finish it._

Suddenly, Silver seems to wake from his fever dream and looks in horror at what he’s done. He swallows and nods once, breathing coming on quicker.

“You two together,” Eleanor gasps out, fighting for breath. “None of us saw that coming.” Flint unsheathes a small blade from his belt and kneels before her. She whispers, “And it makes so much sense.” And her words are softer now. The fight has left her at the acceptance of her own death.

“Are you ready?” Flint murmurs, careful to look her in the eyes and convey his resolve to make it as painless as possible. Eleanor brings a blood soaked hand to his face, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw, leaving a trail of bloody fingerprints in their wake.

“Yes,” she says and closes her eyes, final tears escaping over her cheeks. And Flint takes the blade to her throat, cuts deeply to make it quick. He looks at the ground, at the edges of her blue skirts slowly turning to red. His vision is unfocused for a few seconds as he listens for her stillness.

When he’s sure she’s gone, he stands on shaking legs, using the cell bars to steady his movements. Silver is on his knees, staring at Eleanor’s body as if she might reanimate at any moment, hoping for it even.

“She’s dead,” Silver finally says, and it’s a statement rather than a question. Flint nods once. When the realization hits Silver, Flint watches him bend forward, hands digging into the earth near his knees, breathing heavily with the weight of understanding.

Flint helps him to his feet whispering, “You’re okay. _I_ finished it. That’s on _me_ , not you. It’s on me.” Silver clings to him, fingers grasping the fabric of his jacket, head to Flint’s shoulder as if it will all go away if he can’t see it.

“What do we do?” Silver asks finally, breathing into the curve of Flint’s shoulder.

“We endure,” is all Flint can offer him aloud.

_Let me hold the broken pieces of your soul together, just long enough for you to fasten them into something whole once again, into the new form you will become. This is what I have left to give you._

***

Flint tries to control the flow of information, but quickly abandons his useless efforts. This is what those at the Maroon camp believe: Long John Silver killed Eleanor Guthrie the captive to protect the future queen Madi and to avenge the death of the pirate captain Charles Vane.

Only Billy is told the truth, but he just shakes his head and tells Flint it’s better this way. The name is what matters, and building a legacy behind the name will make the difference in strengthen their cause, because they _will_ fight a war now, whether anyone wants it or not.

Madi will live, the doctor says. Silver spends some time sitting near her, holding her hand as she rests. Flint stands by the door and ensures he isn’t disturbed.

Jack comes to shout in whispers about what’s happened.

“You were fucking there! And what, just watched your quartermaster put a bullet through our chance at ending this on a truce?”

“Jack, it was more complicated than that. He was protecting Madi.”

Jack holds up a hand, and shakes his head. “No need to explain. It’s probably better if I don’t know the details. Just tell me, please, what are we supposed to do now?”

“We will wait to receive a response and decide how to proceed once he know if the governor is coming or not.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing. Too many lives are dependent on the decisions of a few.”

“I know,” Flint agrees. “And believe me when I tell you, Silver is feeling the weight of this. I will handle him, but I need you to help me hold back any hasty actions on the part of the queen. She is understandably distraught over what has happened.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Jack sighs, “but we all know she listens best to him.”

Jack nods toward Silver.

***

It’s late into the night before Flint has a few minutes to tend to the blood still covering his skin, Madi’s blood mixed with Eleanor’s. Eleanor, who was like a daughter to him for some years. She was certainly no friend of his toward the end, but he sees now how the darkness, the unquenchable thirst for power destroyed her first out of all of them. Once the power was taken from her once again, she sought control in the last way she knew how to, by force.

The cloth turns the water in the basin a murky shade of pink as he washes the blood away, first from his face and then across his shoulders and forearms. His clothes will need cleaning so he strips those away and replaces them with a pair of clean breeches loaned from the Maroons.

Silver appears sometime later, closing the door behind him.

“How is she?” Flint asks.

“Alive. She was awake for a few minutes just before I left her. The doctor says it will take time, but she will recover.”

Silver goes to the second basin of water untouched by Flint and strips his shirt off without hesitation. He isn’t covered in as much blood as Flint was, but there are still bits that need cleaning.

Flint moves to leave the room. Providing Silver with privacy and space is best for both of them right now.

“Stay,” Silver requests, voice commanding just enough that Flint is compelled to listen.

Flint sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, waiting but keeping his eyes down. His hands are clean now, but he still feels the weight of the blood there, stained under his skin like a tattoo. He can feel the weight of every life he’s taken tonight, a burden he will carry with him until his death.

Silver says, “I didn’t thank you,” while he’s still running the cloth over his neck and shoulders.

“No need,” Flint replies automatically.

“I thought I could control it, not let it take me over so easily, but _god_ in those seconds it felt _good_ to pull the trigger and do what was necessary.” Silver shakes his head remembering how it felt. He continues, “but then it was like a light switched off and I couldn’t breathe and I was drowning in it. I never want that feeling again, though I do not think I can completely turn away from it. And you,” he looks over, brows knit in confusion like it doesn’t quite understand it all yet, “you brought me back to myself. You knew exactly what I needed.”

“I know what that feels like. I know what it’s like to not have an anchor.”

“You can be that for me, an anchor,” Silver states, and he nods in agreement.

Silver bends down near the basin and throws the water over his shoulders and neck. His back is to Flint, and Flint tries not to look at the flex of muscles and bone and think of all of the ways he wants to touch. There’s something so fragile about human existence. He’s reminded of this every time he watches life leave a person, and to be the one responsible for a person’s death heightens that fragility further.  It always leaves him craving touch, to remind him he is, in fact, still alive. A dangerous thing, indeed. 

“Have you ever—” And there are at least ten ways to finish Flint’s sentence, _been intimate with a man, wanted someone so irrationally, been so terrified of something you can’t yet name,_ but Flint can’t bring himself to finish the sentence in any one of those ways. Instead, he grits his teeth together at the embarrassment of saying as much as he already has.

“Not in the way I want to with you,” Silver whispers in reply to the unasked question. And Flint’s heart stutters because he thinks maybe he didn’t need to finish his sentence at all. “Not in the way I’ve ever wanted to with anyone else.”

“Yes,” Flint agrees on an exhale.

Silver goes to him then without hesitation now like he was just waiting for the word, the validation to act. He sits facing Flint with one knee on either side of Flint’s thighs. Flint brushes his fingertips over hipbones and the curve of his spine and over his damp shoulders. And Flint is shocked by how _right_ this feels.

“You are not afraid?” Flint whispers into Silver’s neck, smelling the sweat and blood on his skin.

“Of you? No, not anymore. Of what we might become to each other? _Fucking terrified_.”

Flint pulls back because there’s something he has to say before this goes further. “I failed Mr. Gates and I failed Miranda and— _god_ , how I failed Thomas. I _will not_ fail you too. I cannot—”

Silver quiets him with the press of lips to lips, the brush of his tongue, and the promise of more to come. “I know,” Silver says against Flint’s mouth. And Flint feels lighter, relieved of a heavy burden. “Now, show me everything I never knew I wanted.”

And there’s so much Flint wants to show him. How to choose, that’s the difficult part.

Mouth to mouth, Flint works the straps open on the iron boot. Silver slides it down and off while Flint digs his fingertips into the flesh of Silver’s thigh, remembering how sore Silver said the muscles were there. Silver gasps against Flint’s mouth when he hits a particularly sore muscle. He rocks against the feeling, brushing their hardening cocks against each other.

Flint takes his time. He tastes the skin covering the vein at Silver’s neck, feels the pulse of it against his teeth, the hollow at his throat, the bones of his jaw, presses their cheeks together to feel the scrape of beard. Silver’s breathing increases and his hands are unsettled, darting from one patch of skin to the next without pattern.  An urgency is building within him and Flint means to quell it.

“Settle yourself,” Flint whispers, a gentle warning.

“You say that like it’s an easy thing,” Silver says, voice shaking just a tiny bit. He presses into the new skin around the bullet wound at Flint’s shoulder, making Flint arch into it.

 Flint kisses him deeply, hands on either side of his face, then lifts Silver by the hips and shifts them to the bed, with Silver under him. He stretches out so all parts of him are touching every part of Silver, knees bracing Silver’s body. He sucks wet kisses into the long lines of Silver’s torso, stopping just short of the waist band of his breeches. Silver reaches for Flint’s neck, encouraging him, but Flint pulls back staring up at him.

It’s apparently too long to wait, because Silver takes it upon himself to slide the breeches down and off as quickly as he can manage. Flint can feel the corner of his mouth pull into a pleased smile, despite his efforts to remain in control.

“I fail to see the humor in this,” Silver says, still anxious and tense.

Flint stands slowly, taking the lamp oil in hand from the table. “I am going to suck your cock and make you come,” Flint says evenly, dripping the oil over his fingertips. “And then when you’ve relaxed to my satisfaction, I am going to fuck you and come inside you.”

Silver’s eyes go glassy and half-lidded as he reaches for his hard cock, squeezing in anticipation. He seems to have nothing more to say, and Flint counts it as a victory of sorts.

When Flint returns to the bed, he slowly licks Silver from arse to balls to cock in one upward motion, that seems to drive Silver crazy by the way he tenses up with the sensation. Flint takes him down his throat a bit at a time, giving them both time to adjust. He pushes Silver’s knees apart so he can lick at the sensitive skin under his balls and then uses the flat part of his tongue to sweep over his hole, just before he enters with one oil-slicked finger.

Silver makes little sounds of pleasure here and there and reaches down to run his fingers through Flint’s short hair, encouraging. When Silver is open and pliant, Flint takes the remaining oil on his hand and uses it to pump Silver’s cock to the breaking point.

He means to finish Silver off first, but Silver grabs at him urgently, and Flint cannot deny him. He slides up Silver’s sweat covered body and joins their mouths together. Silver locks one leg over Flint’s hips encouraging him to push in with his cock. Flint takes more oil from the table onto his hand and uses it to slick himself before pushing in as slowly as he can manage.

“Oh,” Silver draws out, and it sounds like a revelation, like all of it is something he didn’t know could feel so good. Flint pushes Silver’s thighs higher, and Silver arches into it as Flint begins to move within him.

It’s all over in a shorter time that Flint wanted, but he isn’t able to hold off any longer, not with the way Silver is look at him so intently, like he could set the world right or on fire with a single word. This is the last part of himself left to hand over, and he gives in to it without regret.

After Flint comes, he stays seated inside Silver while Silver pulls himself to completion. It only takes a few strokes before he’s smearing his come across Flint’s thigh and back without regard. They pull apart slowly. On his side now, Silver drags Flint to press up against his back, sweat and come and promises knitting them together from thigh to chest to shoulders.

***

In the morning, rumor has spread to Nassau of Eleanor Guthrie’s death at the hands of Long John Silver. The governor will not come to negotiate for a life extinguished, and is enraged to the point of bringing the public execution of five more pirates forward. It is inevitable that more will die before this is finished.

Billy and Ben return to the Barlow house to manage the growing resistance.

Teach readies his fleet, growing by the hour, with pirate crews from Nassau quietly joining their side. He’s worried about loyalty but thinks he can manage them as needed.

The Maroon queen is more intent than ever to see her war come to a head and insists on further training for her soldiers. Anne and Jack assist in this training and Max helps them to acquire more weapons from Nassau’s secret stockpiles.

The whole of the camp double their efforts to repair and rebuild.

Flint catches Silver’s eye from the balcony of their shared room. He’s talking with the queen in the camp square below. Silver smiles up at him and nods. _We will endure_ , Flint thinks.

And they will fight. They will fight for what little they have left because, Flint decides, this is still a life worth living. There are still pages left to write, and so they will write them together.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Florence + the Machine: Heartlines


End file.
